It started with the reaping.
The youth of the district stood nervously, waiting for the
elaborately dressed and coiffed master of ceremonies to utter the fateful words
that would change the life of one teen forever. Some waited in edgy silence,
hoping beyond hope that their names would not be called. Others, who had been
training for the honor of becoming a tribute since childhood, stood confidently,
masking their excitement behind their calm exterior.
Finally, the emcee took the stage and read off the name of
the person who would represent the district at the Capitol.
For the girl who was chosen, life turned upside down almost
immediately.
As soon as the tribute was named, a mentor was there to
offer a helping hand, ready to train and assist through each aspect of the competition.
Other helpers emerged too, ready to aid with clothing, hair, and appearance.
Makeovers, waxing, shaving, dyeing, exercising, training—the tribute was put through
the wringer in preparation for the impending fight-to-the-death event.
Too soon, the tributes from each district were headed to the
Capitol.
After their arrival at the Capitol, the tributes were
whisked off to the opening parade. Each tribute put on a costume representing
her district and rode past a cheering crowd, smiling and waving all the while.
Costumes were themed with the local industries of each district and depicted things
like agriculture, fishing, mining, and technology.
Even before the official games began, each moment the
tributes spent together became one of competition. Every move or word was
analyzed for strengths, areas of danger, and potential weaknesses to exploit.
On the face, the tributes liked each other. Underneath, however, each harbored
a fierce willingness to take down anybody who stood in their way.
Walking over the bodies of their vanquished foes was no big
deal.
All of them could — and would — do it gracefully.
The parade offered the public a chance to meet the tributes,
but morning training sessions at the Capitol allowed the tributes a chance to
get to know each other. During the training, each focused on building and
showing off the talents they would use once they took to the field of battle.
Some gave the training their all, putting their hearts and souls into their
performances in hopes of impressing those around them. Others played more
strategically, keeping their talents concealed and giving half-efforts when
they knew people were watching. The intention, for those tributes, was to lull
their opponents into a false sense of security before unleashing their full
abilities once the true competition began. It was a game where no one could be
trusted, because everyone hid secrets.
As training sessions at the Capitol concluded, each tribute met with the judges and tried to
convince the panel to award them high scores. Tributes told funny stories. They
made the judges laugh. They made the judges cry. They showed off unique
talents. They said and did anything necessary to stand out from the crowd. Some
succeeded. Some did not.
Later,
the tributes took to the Capitol stage to similarly try to woo the crowd. Each word they said, each joke they cracked, and each
smile they flashed was intended to gain them fans and adoration. Having a crowd
of admirers in your corner meant gifts, cheers, and support.
But mostly gifts.
Gifts delivered nightly, coming to the tributes like silver
parachutes from heaven and often accompanied by notes of encouragement and
instructions for battle, could save a girl's life.
The battle at the Capitol was, in the end, a battle of
attrition and a fight to the death. Who could survive each challenge? Who could
withstand the arrows and slings of their fellow tributes? Who allied with whom,
and for what purpose? Who was in the game just to survive, and who was playing
to win?
In the end, only one tribute could come out on top.
Only one tribute could be crowned.
Only one tribute could walk to the center of the stage
at Capitol Theatre and claim the title of Miss Utah.
Wait….
What did you think I was talking about?
